


A Portsmouth Morning

by silverfoxstole



Category: Hornblower (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Missing Scene, fic that doesn't really go anywhere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-05-27 17:54:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6294022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverfoxstole/pseuds/silverfoxstole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A couple of missing/extended scenes from Loyalty. Hornblower is a little nervous about his meeting with Pellew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Portsmouth Morning

“For Christ’s sake, Horatio, calm down. It’s the only the admiral! You look like a cat on hot bricks.”

Hornblower glanced at his friend in the tarnished mirror: Bush was lying back on the truckle bed, one arm tucked behind his head and eyes still heavy with sleep, though he had come round enough at Horatio’s insistent shaking to curse and quirk an eyebrow. “It is not _only_ the admiral,” he said, and Bush’s brow rose further. “It could be a position.”

“You think that’s possible?”

“As I said last night, I don’t think he’s asked me to the Tonnant to pay a social call.” Hornblower fussed with his jacket, which was showing obvious signs of wear in the morning light; at this angle he could see where the pins which held his epaulette had once been. “I can’t be late.”

“And you won’t be. It’s only – Good God, it’s barely seven o’clock!” Bush announced in horrified tones, having rolled over to find his watch on the chair beside him and held it up for inspection. “Do you not think you are preparing just a little in advance of the appointment?”

“I still have to walk to the dockyard.”

“Somehow, I doubt that will take you two hours.” Bush yawned, settling himself on one side, head propped on his hand, to watch Hornblower as he bustled about the little attic room. Horatio had been awake most of the night, turning over Pellew’s words and behaviour in his mind and trying to work out what the admiral might want with him; his eyes had not closed for more than a few minutes by the time daylight began to creep beneath the curtains, mind unable to rest. By contrast Bush had fallen asleep almost immediately, adding a not entirely appreciated counterpoint of snores to Hornblower’s musings. “Especially with legs as long as yours.”

“This could be very important, William,” Hornblower told him. “I’m sure our meeting the admiral last night was not a coincidence.”

“Oh? Did you not expect him to be there?”

“I’ve seen him there many times, played him many times, but he has not summoned me aboard the flagship before.” Hornblower rummaged in his chest and came up with his second best shirt; there was a hole in the cuff, through which he ruefully stuck his finger.

“That needs darning,” Bush pointed out with his usual unerring ability to state the obvious. “Can you sew?”

Hornblower grimaced. “I regret that I cannot. And I do not believe I have time to learn this morning.”

He heard a sigh behind him and turned to see the other man looking through his valise. “I’m sure I have one here you can borrow,” Bush said, adding as he glanced at Horatio, “Though you might find the sleeves are a little short.”

“Have you skill with a needle, then?” Hornblower enquired, sitting down for a moment on the rickety stool in the corner. “I would never have guessed it to be one of your accomplishments.”

Bush’s eyebrow rose again; it was incredible that he could be so eloquent without words. “One has to learn these things in the navy, I have found; I won’t say I’m skilled precisely but I manage. However, since the peace my sisters have gone through my wardrobe, such as it is, and repaired everything they could get their hands on so my shirts are probably in somewhat better condition than yours.”

“Thank you; I appreciate it. Perhaps Admiral Pellew will have something to offer you, too.”

“I doubt it; his summons did not extend to me.” Bush lay down again, his hair, freed from its usual impossibly neat queue, spilling in unruly curls over the pillow; it had been something of a surprise to see, giving him a wild look which sat at odds with his calm and stoic demeanour. “You needn’t worry, Horatio; I can shift for myself.”

It looked as though he was intending to go back to sleep and so Hornblower busied himself with finding his razor and the cake of soap, wondering whether he should risk asking for hot water or just shave as usual with cold. He was still deliberating when there was a tap at the door and it opened slightly to reveal Maria, her dark hair escaping in corkscrews from beneath her cap. At the sight of her he was glad he’d already pulled on the threadbare shirt from the day before. Seeing his surprise she smiled hopefully and raised the jug she was carrying; steam curled lazily from it, flushing her face.

“I’m sorry; I overheard last night that you had an appointment and I thought you might like some hot water,” she said. “I’m not disturbing you, am I?”

“I – oh – thank you, Maria,” he managed, cursing himself for the knot his tongue seemed to get into whenever they spoke. “No, you are not disturbing us at all. I was just getting dressed as you can see.”

She glanced uncertainly at Bush. “I wouldn’t like to wake your friend, especially as it’s so early in the day. You were out very late; I expect he needs his rest.”

“It is quite all right; Mr Bush is wide awake. Is that not so, William?” Hornblower asked loudly, giving Bush’s foot, which was sticking out of the blankets, a kick. The older man grunted and opened his eyes. “Will you not bid Miss Mason good day?”

Even half asleep Bush was nothing if not courteous. “Good morning, Miss Mason,” he said smoothly, inclining his head in a courtly manner that made it look as though he exchanged pleasantries from his bed every day. Maria looked a little awkward but she responded with a slightly curtsey. As though desperate for something normal to latch on to she spotted Hornblower’s shirt lying over the back of a chair and her sharp eyes found the hole immediately.

“Oh, Mr Hornblower, you can’t wear that,” she said firmly. “Give it to me; I’ll darn it for you and you’ll have it before you leave.”

“Maria, I couldn’t possibly ask - ” he began, but she cut him off, passing him the water jug and gathering up the shirt.

“It won’t take me more than ten minutes.” She turned to go, but stopped with one hand on the doorknob. “You’ll need a proper breakfast, too. Is eggs and bacon acceptable?”

“Indeed, but I hardly think your mother would approve.”

“You gave my mother more than enough money last night to keep her happy for a while. Come down in twenty minutes; I’ll have it waiting for you.” With that Maria departed, throwing him a smile as she did.

“I’m sure that witch _is_ happy,” Bush muttered as the door closed behind her. “Twenty five shillings will keep her in gin for a day or two at least.”

“William,” Hornblower chided, turning to pour the water into the basin. The room was quiet while he shaved and he was wondering if Bush had dozed off again when the man himself remarked,

“I still maintain what I said yesterday: Miss Mason definitely has her eye on you.”

Horatio groaned inwardly. “And once again I will reply: you are mistaken. Maria is a friend, nothing more.”

Bush was sitting up now, and regarded him seriously in the mirror. “Horatio, have you much experience with women?” he enquired.

“Not as such, no,” Hornblower admitted when he looked for a trace of levity in his friend’s expression and could find none. “Why?”

“Will you take advice from someone who grew up surrounded by them?”

“I never took you to be henpecked, William,” he said lightly, but Bush’s face did not flicker. “Are you then an expert?”

“I don’t think there is a man in the land who could profess to be so, but possessing a mother, three sisters and assorted aunts and cousins I believe I have a slight advantage. Be careful of Miss Mason, Horatio,” the former second lieutenant said. “In my experience, women who offer to help an unattached man rarely do so without an ulterior motive.”

“Maria? Now you are certainly being ridiculous.”

“Possibly,” Bush conceded, “But at least remember what I said. I’ve seen too many sensible men turned into gibbering fools by pretty girls who deigned to smile at them.”

“You’ve never had your head turned, then?” Horatio asked, splashing water on his face. He watched the other man as he towelled himself dry and thought he caught a wistful look cross Bush’s face for a moment before the stern mask returned.

“Who hasn’t? He would have to be a stronger man than I. Just be careful, Horatio, please.”

It was obvious he would not leave the subject without some reassurance and so Hornblower said, “Very well, Mr Bush, I shall bear your advice in mind. Now: will you accompany me to the dockyard?”

Bush glanced at the door, and his expression darkened. “Only if you can assure me yon harpy isn’t on the prowl. I wasn’t particularly fond of the way she looked at me yesterday.”

The thought of Mrs Mason setting her cap at the handsome but far from wealthy Bush was one that made involuntary laughter bubble in Hornblower’s chest. “Don’t worry,” he told his friend, trying to keep a straight face, “I promise I’ll protect you.”

“By all means, laugh,” Bush said, pushing back the blankets and pulling his nightshirt over his head. “It wasn’t you she was alone with on the landing yesterday afternoon.”

“I’m sorry, William.” Hornblower made a valiant attempt to wipe the smile from his face and failed. “Did she...” He cleared his throat. “Did she... proposition you?”

“Not in so many words, but her hand ended up somewhere entirely unexpected when she was showing me in here.”

The mental image conjured by that sentence made Hornblower lose the battle completely. He concentrated on brushing his jacket but couldn’t stop his shoulders quivering. “If it’s any consolation,” he managed to say, “I think after the way you spoke to her last night she would rather have slapped you than anything else.”

“That’s true enough.” Bush had taken his place before the mirror and stood there in a shirt that definitely did look in much better condition than either of Horatio’s own; he threw a glance over his shoulder as he lathered his chin. “It didn’t stop me considering whether it would be a good idea to put a chair under the door handle, though.”

***

“One good thing has come out of my unfortunate encounter with your landlady,” he remarked ten minutes later when they were clattering down the stairs. “It’s stopped you winding yourself tighter than a badly-rigged halyard.”

“I can’t help being a little... apprehensive. Do you never get nervous?” Hornblower asked, thinking that the only time he had ever seen Bush lose his composure was when he and Kennedy had run him off the cliff top in Jamaica. He could still hear the second lieutenant bellowing ‘ _I can’t swim!!_ ’

“Of course. I had to take my lieutenant’s examination three times, and it wasn’t entirely due to my inability to comprehend spherical trigonometry,” Bush said with a slight smile. “My knees were knocking so much I swear they must have been able to hear them in Gosport.”

They both chuckled at that. Hornblower led the way to the kitchen, stomach rumbling as he caught the scent of frying bacon. “What do _you_ think the admiral wants?”

Bush shrugged. “It’s not for me to say, but this peace _can’t_ hold.”

“I thought you weren’t a gambling man?”

“That wasn’t a wager, it was an opinion. I’m frankly astonished it’s lasted this long. And,” Bush added, “I have not come to such a conclusion purely because I am an unemployed lieutenant who is being driven out of his mind with boredom.”

“Perish the thought,” Hornblower said. “From that I assume life at home has begun to pall. Were you not happy to see your sisters?”

“Naturally, at first; there was no time for even a flying visit between Andromeda being paid off and having to post down to Plymouth to join Renown. But there is only so much female chatter I can bear before I become fit for nothing more than a cell in Bedlam,” Bush replied with feeling. “I love ‘em dearly but my God...! Why should they think I would have even the slightest interest in the height of a waistline or which muslin is better for day wear than another?”

Hornblower grinned. “I should be careful, William; you might find yourself a veritable oracle of feminine fashion.”

“Bloody hell, I hope not.” Bush rolled his eyes. “The sooner we’re safely back at the sea the better!”

“I couldn’t agree more.” The door to the kitchen stood ajar; as Hornblower entered from the corner of his eye he could see Bush moving cautiously behind him, gaze flitting around as though he were walking into a den of French soldiers. Thankfully Mrs Mason was nowhere to be seen and they were greeted by Maria, who was just removing a frying pan from the stove.

“I hope you’re hungry,” she said with a smile that made Hornblower feel slightly uncomfortable though he wasn’t entirely sure why. A little voice in his head reminded him of Bush’s warning earlier but he pushed it very firmly aside. He took a seat at the table, watching as she dished up two plates loaded with fried eggs and fat rashers of bacon and feeling consternation rise up within him at the sight of the food.

“Maria, this is too much!” he exclaimed as she put one in front of him. “I couldn’t possibly accept - ”

“Nonsense. Some days you hardly seem to eat enough to keep a bird alive, I know,” she told him, reaching for the jug of small beer and pouring two tankards. “If you have an important appointment you need a full stomach.”

“But, your mother - ”

“I told you, I can handle my mother. Go on: eat,” Maria added with another smile. “I can’t uncook it.”

He returned it a little hesitantly. “Thank you. I truly do not deserve such generosity.”

“There’s nothing overly generous in wanting to send a man out with a good breakfast inside him, Mr Hornblower,” she said, and bustled over to the fire where the big copper kettle hung. “Any woman would agree.”

“We are both grateful to you, Miss Mason,” Bush assured her around a forkful of bacon, apparently not possessed of the same scruples as Horatio. “These eggs are excellent.”

Maria coloured slightly at the compliment. “Thank you, Mr Bush.”

“Where - ” He swallowed, and glanced around, eyebrow arching. “Where is your mother, by the way?”

If Maria had an opinion on the altercation that had taken place in the hall last night she kept it to herself. Hornblower could not deny that Bush had been extremely rude to Mrs Mason, but then the uncharitable part of him reflected that she had deserved it, ungallant though it may have been. “Sleeping. She rarely rises before nine these days so you’re quite safe, Mr Bush; don’t worry.”

Bush’s shoulders, which had been tensed as though he had left a coat hanger in his jacket, visibly relaxed and he set about his breakfast with increased enthusiasm. Though he hid a smile behind his mug Hornblower conversely felt his own apprehension returning as the clock ticked closer towards his meeting with Pellew.

“Will you wait?” he found himself asking when they had taken their leave of Maria and were walking in the direction of the dockyard. He realised he had been striding too fast, legs unconsciously eating up the ground, and stopped on the corner to allow the shorter Bush to catch up.

The older man was puffing slightly and tried to hide the relief he obviously felt at the brief respite. He nodded. “If you wish; I can find myself a berth in the Keppel’s Head. At this time of day I may even be able to get near the fire.”

“Forgive me; I gave you no time to fetch your coat,” Hornblower said, suddenly aware that it was still cold and Bush was without the tarpaulin greatcoat he had been wearing when they met in the street the day before.

Bush waved a dismissive hand. “I’ll survive.” He glanced out over the harbour, at the ships rocking against their anchors; there must have been six or seven of varying rates, the largest of which was the flagship, the Tonnant, Pellew’s flag as Admiral of the White fluttering in the breeze. “Plenty of commands to choose from.”

“And all of them taken, I have no doubt. There is little enough for a mere lieutenant commander in any case, though I am not even that at present,” Hornblower added ruefully.

“Merely a formality, I’m sure. And what about that sloop?” Bush shielded his eyes against the bright morning sunlight and pointed to a rather familiar little ship anchored towards Stokes Bay. Horatio’s mouth opened in surprise.

“That’s the Hotspur! We liberated her from the French last year, just as the peace was declared,” he explained when Bush frowned in confusion. “By the time we brought her into Portsmouth Retribution had been decommissioned and my promotion was denied. I suppose she has been returned to service.”

Instead of clearing, Bush’s frown just deepened. “Why reintroduce a twenty gun sloop to the service? Captain Hammond was only talking last night about the country’s inability to keep a Navy in peacetime; that’s why we’re all languishing here kicking our heels.”

Hornblower shrugged. “Perhaps the admiral will enlighten me,” he said, not believing for a moment that such an event was likely to transpire. There was a jolly boat waiting at the quayside and he recognised the admiral’s pennant flying from her stern. He cleared his throat, awkwardly folding his hands behind his back. “Ha-hm. Thank you for accompanying me this morning, Mr Bush. I do appreciate your support.”

“Think nothing of it, Mr Hornblower.” Bush smiled and touched his hat. His gaze slid towards the tavern. “But, should you feel so inclined, you may show that appreciation when you return by buying me a pint.”

Despite the nerves coiling in his stomach Hornblower could not help laughing. “You are expecting a favourable outcome?”

Bush arched a brow. “If you make haste; that coxswain is looking rather impatient.”

“Ah.” The man was indeed regarding them with more than a trace of annoyance on his ruddy face. If he had a timepiece he would doubtless be tapping it. “Yes, you are quite right. I will see you later, then, William.”

“I’ll keep a watch for your return,” Bush promised, calling after him as he turned and walked with a little trepidation towards the waiting boat, “And good luck!”

 

***

 

It was a slightly baffled but enormously pleased Horatio who sat in the jolly boat’s stern as he was rowed back to shore. He did his best to keep the smile that kept trying to break onto his face at bay for as long as he was amongst Pellew’s crew but as soon as he saw Bush’s slight, blue-clad figure on the quay he could fight it no more and was grinning broadly by the time the boat bumped against the stairs.

“So what did the admiral want?” Bush asked immediately as he approached.

“A captain,” Hornblower replied, glancing over his shoulder at the sloop moored across the harbour, “For the Hotspur.”

For once both of Bush’s eyebrows rose in brief surprise before he was holding out a hand with a grin that echoed Horatio’s own and which was seldom seen to grace his stern features. “Congratulations, Horatio – sir. He couldn’t have chosen a better man.”

Hornblower took the offered hand, to have his warmly and firmly shaken; there was no hint of jealousy or bitterness in Bush’s expression, only pleasure that his friend had been so rewarded. Horatio had been aware, almost from the moment they bumped into each other in the street and the other man immediately deferred to him, that his promotion should rightly have been Bush’s; he had after all been the senior lieutenant on Renown with Buckland disgraced and should have expected to be given command of Retribution. Not for the first time Hornblower had wondered exactly how it must have felt to have a junior officer, and one several years younger to add to the insult, promoted over his head; there had been no occasion to discuss it, for Bush was transferred to the Naval hospital immediately after Kennedy’s confession and they had not seen each other again before Hornblower left Kingston on the refitted Gaditana. On the return journey from the Tonnant he knew that he wanted Bush beside him on Hotspur, but the question was: would Bush wish to serve under the man who had, as Black Charlie Hammond so damningly put it during the court martial, leapfrogged the chain of command?

They both turned to gaze out at the sloop, bobbing gently on the tide. “She’s hardly the Renown,” Horatio remarked.

“Ah, but she’s a fine ship, sir,” Bush insisted, respect returned now that Hornblower was once more the senior officer. It sounded strange after the friendly informality of the past eighteen hours.

“You think so?” he asked.

“Yes, I think so.” Bush’s tone was sincere and his keen eyes were no doubt sizing Hotspur up, evaluating her lines, the experienced seaman in him probably already calculating the time it would take to make her ready to sail. Hornblower hesitated, rocking on his heels, the words he wanted to ask on the tip of his tongue. Bush seemed not to notice and so, the silence between them beginning to stretch uncomfortably, Horatio decided to grasp the bull by the horns; if he missed his chance now it would be too late and Bush would return to Chichester, perhaps not to be seen again for years.

“And do you think, Mr Bush, that a lieutenant who has served in a seventy-four would be content to serve as a lieutenant on a mere sloop?” he asked, watching the older man’s face carefully.

Bush turned back to him, expression neutral, but Hornblower caught the slightest flicker of relief in his eyes. “If you were captain, I believe he might,” he said firmly.

That same relief came flooding through Hornblower’s chest and he realised he had been stupidly holding his breath. “In that case, would you do me the honour of being my first lieutenant?”

Bush inclined his head. “It is I who would be honoured, sir.”

There was a pause, and Horatio blurted, “I feared you wouldn’t want to!”

“I feared you wouldn’t ask!” The grin was back on Bush’s face and they both laughed at their own foolishness, instinctively looking back at the Hotspur.

“Well, Mr Bush, we have a ship to prepare,” Hornblower remarked.

Bush’s smile didn’t fade, as though he positively relished the challenge of ordering stores, hiring hands, arguing with the dockyard superintendent and the myriad other tasks involved in getting a ship of war ready to sail. “Aye, aye, Captain,” he replied with a distinct gleam in his eye, and an eyebrow arched just a fraction. “But first, sir, I believe you owe me a pint...?”

Hornblower laughed again. “Indeed I do. I think we are permitted a celebration, and now I am to be on full pay once more, and a commander’s pay at that, I believe I can afford one.”

“Miss Mason will be sorry to see you go,” Bush said with a sidelong glance as they made their way back towards the Keppel’s Head.

Now Hornblower’s mouth twitched in mild annoyance at his friend’s refusal to entirely drop the subject. He hoped Bush did not intend to refer to it once they had sailed or he would be forced to speak sternly to the man and he did not want that at such an early stage in their new working relationship. “I am sure she will cope. How will you manage without your dunnage?”

“I’ll send for it; we’ll not sail before the end of the week and it should arrive by then. I have everything I need for the moment.” Bush held the door of the tavern open for him; they were greeted by a rush of warm air from the fire and Horatio shivered involuntarily, his excitement making him forget the cold. He went to the bar, slipping between the determined patrons propping it up even at this relatively early hour; by the time he was served Bush had found a table in the corner and was leafing through a Naval Gazette that had been left there. It would be a few more days before His Majesty’s newest confirmed commander saw his name gracing those pages.

“Anything of interest?” he asked lightly, setting down two mugs of ale on the stained deal tabletop and dropping into a chair.

“Very little. Your health, sir,” Bush announced, lifting his tankard; Horatio responded with a smile, reaching for his own.

“And yours, William. To HMS Hotspur; may she and her crew do their duty to king and country.”

“And confound the French wherever she may.”

“Mr Bush, we are still at peace, do not forget that,” Hornblower said, remembering Pellew’s warning: ‘ _Do nothing to provoke war before war is declared_.’

Bush smiled slightly, no more than a flicker of the lips. “My apologies, sir; it must have slipped my mind.”

They both drank, and Hornblower mentally began to work out exactly what would need to be done in order to prepare the Hotspur for sea; the fitting up of the ship he could leave to Bush, but there were so many other things to be considered, the concerns of a captain. He would need a steward, a coxswain, his own cabin stores, all things that had been of little importance on a barely-ranked ship like Retribution, but which would be expected now. As he pondered Bush nursed his ale, staring into the fire and content to sit in companionable silence. When he did eventually speak again Hornblower almost jumped, despite the background chatter in the room.

“A thought did just occur to me, sir,” Bush said. “I wonder where that callow young nephew of Hammond’s will end up?”

“I expect his uncle will make sure he serves under some prestigious command. Anything to keep him away from me,” Horatio replied, for once grateful that Captain Hammond bore him such a profound dislike. Jack Hammond’s obvious hero worship had made him feel distinctly uncomfortable.

“I can’t help but pity the lad,” Bush continued, grimacing. “Any half-competent officer will have him for breakfast.”

“It’s not our problem, William. We have much more important matters to concentrate upon. A ship needs a crew, and that is where we must begin.”

The grimace became a lop-sided smile, and Bush raised his tankard once more. “Aye, aye, sir.”

 


End file.
